


And Yet Ways Change

by Avathys



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: And then released when the Rebels won, Chirrut LIVES!!, Chirrut is a repressed Victorian Maiden, Din Djarin's exposed wrists, He was found and thrown into Imperial Prison, Lonely Chirrut, M/M, Masking, POV!Chirrut, PTSD, Past Baze/Chirrut, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivors Guilt, losing a loved one, will update as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avathys/pseuds/Avathys
Summary: “No living being can see my face.”“Well, fortunately for you, I cannot see.”“That’s… not the point.”“The point, Mandalorian, is that I do not need eyes to know you. I see more than most ever could.” Chirrut’s lips curled into a smile. “Especially more than one who wears such a ridiculous helmet.”Grogu needed a teacher, but not necessarily a Jedi.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Chirrut Îmwe
Comments: 110
Kudos: 191





	1. The Change

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> So this fic just came to me very suddenly and i had to write it. I have no plan, nada, nothing. Just winging it. 
> 
> In this fic, The Death Star was not used on Scariff and Chirrut survived. Everyone else died, Jyn and Cassian were shot. Chirrut was found in the wreckage and taken to an Imperial prison, where he was tortured and interrogated. He was not released until the Rebels won and found and released all Imperial political prisoners. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Chirrut awoke to silence.

The temple was still cloaked in the peaceful drought of sleep, all the children snuggled deep in their bedrolls. It was early; he could easily just turn over and go back to sleep. However, after a few moments of laying still in his cot, breathing steadily, listening to the quiet beat of his own heart and the dozen that surrounded him, Chirrut slowly sat up. Sleep clung to his body, making him sluggish. The Force was calm today, content in a lazy, warm way that made Chirrut’s shoulders go slack and easy as he stretched. A priest was in the main temple, praying. Chirrut could barely hear his quiet words, but he could sense the Force building around him, guiding him, if the priest could just open his eyes and listen to it. 

Careful not to step on any little fingers peeking out from under their blankets, Chirrut made his way through the maze of sleeping orphans towards the door. Once past the door’s opening, he felt his way down the hallway, hand absently skimming along the cold stone, till he came to the temple’s main chamber of worship.

It was Vicar Korbun kneeling before the alter.

Chirrut should have known.

Korbun was deeply pious, even though he hid it beneath crude, borderline inappropriate, jokes and a large belly that jumped and heaved when he laughed at said bad jokes. The priest was the one who had found Chirrut several months ago in a Navarro back ally and had subsequently dragged the begrudging guardian back to his small place of worship. Of course, Chirrut was an adult, so the holy man teasingly introduced him to the kids as the Vicar’s new pet loth cat. Chirrut had been too starved and desperate to object, laughing along and then turning to hiss menacingly at the gaggle of messy heads and bare feet before him. The Force was strong here, but also sad. Somber in a way that Chirrut quietly avoided these days. If not for the promise of food and a warm, dry place to sleep, he would have immediately left, still smiling and polite, but declining help all the same.

“This day will bring change,” The vicar said from where he knelt.

“But it will be good change, I think,” Chirrut replied, playful, optimistic. He leaned against a fountain containing purifying incense, its perfume overloading his finely tuned senses.

Now, six months out of Imperial prison and Chirrut still wondered when his surprise welcome would run out.

He was no child, and yet he slept with the orphans. He cleaned, he taught, he chased the children through the halls laughing (one time right through an early evening service, earning Vicar Ali-Menath’s wrath). Once a fight had broken out in the temple courtyard, leading to a man being thrown through the front antechamber window. The children had screamed, tears welling in the corners of their wide eyes, and Korbun had demanded the two combatants leave, but it had been Chirrut who had cracked them both near unconscious with his staff and seen them forcefully out the door. The children had avoided him the rest of the day, and Ali-Menath had sneered that Korbun’s loth cat was feral, downright rabid. The kids eventually settled and forgave Chirrut, but nothing could hide the twinge of fear swirling around the vicars sometimes when they saw Chirrut walking towards them down the hall.

The Force always revealed one’s truths.

When would Chirrut’s truth be revealed? When would he be asked, politely but firmly, to leave? This question was haunting him more and more with each day.

“Any change can bring good if you let it.” He said, breaking the silence. Chirrut had never felt the need to do that before, but now the urge was inescapable.

“What makes you think that, my feral friend?” Vicar Korbun chuckled as he slowly stood, his old knees popping loudly.

“Experience, of course!” Chirrut smiled widely.

Korbun only hummed, placing one meaty hand on Chirrut’s shoulder as he passed.

As soon as the room plunged back into silence, the guardian with nothing to guard found his smile slipping. These were the moments Chirrut feared most; when the memories would crowd back in. So he found an empty place to kneel and took Korbun’s place praying.

_I am one with the Force and the Force is with me._

He stayed there, an open vessel for the Force, asking it for guidance just as Korbun had. And yet, all Chirrut received was more silence. The morning warmth slowly crept into the room, soothing the chilly exposed skin on Chirrut’s arms, but he still felt cold.

Chirrut could still feel the Force, sense its will, but deep down in his core all he felt was alone.

_________

Imperials.

Chirrut knew the smell of the Stormtrooper armor, chemical plastoid covering sweaty basic linen, the oil they used to maintain their blasters. He knew the swirl of the Force around them too, the way everything changed whenever and wherever they went.

The guardian pondered his own words spoken not hours ago about how change could be good. Even he was finding it hard to see the positive as the stormtroopers marched through the streets as if the Empire was still alive and in full command. He knew this to be untrue because six months ago the prison he had spent four years trapped inside had been completely cleared out by men and women in Alliance fatigues, claiming victory for rebels turned rulers.

This was not the first time Chirrut had encountered Empire forces since being freed, but as he stood there in the Hoimoi OpenMarket and listened to them take and take and take and order around, his hands tightened around the uneti wood of his staff. His staff had been the only thing the Imperials had let the ‘crippled, blind scum’ keep after they found him near death on the beaches of Scarriff. During interrogation they had taunted him by taking it and giving back as they pleased.

Now he wished to use it, wanted to hear the wood sing.

Elsewhere. The Force whispered. Not here.

Chirrut wondered why he continued to listen after the Force had seen to abandon him. Still, he turned and left, leaving a small stack of credits in the vendors hands to pay for the goagoi fruit in his basket.

He managed to get back to the temple to see another group of troopers stopped outside the ancient stone blocks of the temple’s exterior wall. An officer was pulling a crying boy from Vicar Ali-Menath’s arms. Vicar Korbun was using his ample mass to block two more troopers from entering the temple gates. Chirrut was thankful, if a stab annoyed, that the Force had been right.

“You are not taking these children, you bantha faced droid.” Ali-Menath spat at the white mask before him, bony hands secure around the boy’s bicep. Chirrut had never before been thankful for Ali-Menath’s entitled attitude and condescending tone.

“He’s right you know.” Chirrut called out airily, not even pausing in his fluid march forward. “You will not take these children.”

“Halt!” One stormtrooper ordered.

“Is that so?” The officer sneered.

“Yes.” Chirrut said simply, dropping his basket of fruit midstride. As all the men focused on the fruit as it spilled around Chirrut’s feet, he swung his staff straight into the closest stormtroopers helmet, crunching the visor inward with a sickening squelch. Before any of the men could react, eyes widening as they realized what had just happened, Chirrut was already moving towards the next closest target.

Chirrut hit the next trooper in the gut and as the unknown enemy in white armor doubled over, Chirrut tucked himself into the man’s side, swinging one of the trooper’s arm over his own shoulder to use the man as living armor. Two shots rang out as the two stormtroopers attempting to force their way past Korbun tried to shoot him, but hit their comrade instead. Chirrut pushed forward, trooper stumbling in disorientated pain along with him as he was shot twice in the side. The guardian threw the injured trooper off him easily as he came within range and a rage filled one handed swing of his staff sent the other two troopers to the ground.

Chirrut was not usually prone to anger, but the last four and a half years had changed him.

He finally turned towards the officer, who had let go of the boy and was fumbling with the blaster on his hip.

“Vicars,” Chirrut said calmly, his voice no longer happy and light, but still calm, almost detached, even to his own ears, “Please take the children inside and lock the doors.”

Neither man answered him, but they immediately complied. Chirrut heard the click of the lock behind him before continuing.

“Who do you think you are, attacking us like that?!” The officer wailed, finally able to free his blaster and point it at Chirrut.

“I would not do that if I were you.” Chirrut warned candidly. “Instead you should turn around and leave this planet for good.”

“Wha-??” The officer was stunned. He recovered quickly though, “I am under order to acquire resources for the Galactic Empi-“

“You are a boy who will die soon, and no one will mourn you.” Chirrut replied.

The officer’s heart was a pod-racer hurtling forward at breakneck speed, Chirrut could hear it, and his breath was shallow and raspy. And right before the Imperial decided to pull the trigger of his blaster, the Force darkened around him, twisted and sickening. Chirrut swung his staff into the officer’s temple as the bolt shot harmlessly over his left shoulder, causing the young idiot’s head to snap to the side and back, thus giving him a quick and painless death. It was the least Chirrut could do for him.

The stupid boy could not see the black fog surrounding Chirrut and thus had no warning.

__________

“They want them for the Stormtrooper program.” Chirrut announced quietly over the silent dinner table. All of the kids had finished washing up as the sun’s warmth left, and now he, Korbun and Ali-Menath sat stoically, munching on stale bread and sipping a bowl of soup Ali-Menath made whenever he missed his home planet. The bodies of the five Imperials had long been disposed of, Chirrut had quietly seen to that, and the children were hidden deep in the back of the temple as the multiple convoys of stormtroopers patrolled the streets.

None of them said anything else the rest of the night.

Korbun kneeled and prayed.

Ali-Menath spent hours into the late night contacting whoever he could.

Chirrut sat watch outside, leg crossed, back leaned against the front gate, staff in hand.

_______

Eight of the children were stealthily hidden with locals, Korbun’s congregation stepping up for the good of their community. That left five youngsters still in trouble and while Ali-Menath said he had several offers from off world, there was no way to get the children out in time and unnoticed.

“I will say you are all my children,” Chirrut had laughed as he served them morning meal, “And they cannot argue because you all look just like me.”

The children laughed and told him no, they didn’t.

“Whaaaat?” He said, “I know these things to be true, so you must be tricking me.”

Chirrut had scoped out the Imperial division that had taken over his small, normally peaceful and unimportant sanctuary. Apparently, the town’s solitude worked as a refuge for the Empire as well as former Guardians. There were over fifty Imperials roaming the city, and Chirrut had to stop himself from hunting them down, one by one. Not only would he probably not succeed, but his initial encounter with the troopers, which happened almost three days ago, had left Ali-Menath and Korbun unable to directly address him. They mumbled at him from the side of their mouths and shuffled past him in the hallway, head down. Their pet loth cat had shown its claws. More than that, a dark anger that had lain dormant for six months deep inside him was bubbling towards Chirrut’s surface and it scared him.

Every night he slept in front of the locked gates, hand tight around the cool wood of his staff, jerking awake whenever he heard someone approach.

Patience. The Force whispered. Not now.

Part of his anger was with the Force. It chose to come to him and abandon him at will. In prison it had been his only solace as his broken body slowly healed, but now he found his faith slipping. A man could only take so much before he began to hate. And he could not always control which way that hate was directed.

Why had this happened?

Why was Chirrut always the one to lose? To suffer?

He wished for Baze. For rough, calloused hands and stolen moments under a thin blanket that barely kept out the Jedha night cold.

Chirrut had not been told Baze was dead. He found out four years later, after he had been released and was finally able to research what had happened on Scariff. Able to carefully sort through the official death certificates. He then wandered through some nameless city on some unknown planet, wondering if a passing transpod was moving fast enough, would hit him hard enough, that this whole four year long ordeal could finally be over. He could do four years in prison if Baze was alive to come home to.

He couldn’t do this.

Chirrut couldn’t survive when no one else had.

He wasn’t strong enough. Maybe that was why the Force was no longer with him.

________

His chest was hallow again and the Force was so quiet, so nonexistant, that he almost felt like he couldn’t see anything. Chirrut had to slide down one of the temple walls, landing on his butt with a loud thump, and steady his breathing before he could focus his other senses enough to trust in his surroundings.

There was the ground beneath him. Dirt

There was a wall behind him. Stone.

There was gas all around him. Air

And connecting all of it was…. Nothing…..

He was blind.

Yet, there, in the darkness, was a single strand, a single brightness. Chirrut latched onto it with a vigor and a hunger that he honestly had no idea where it was coming from. He was an animal of pure instinct. Slowly he stood and began to walk, leaving his staff behind.

He walked out of the temple front gate, ignoring Korbun’s calls.

 _I am one with the Force and the Force…._ He swallowed … _Is with me._

All he could see that that single strand, pulling him, pushing him, leading him onward. His normally sharp hearing dulled, and his acute sense of touch and smell were completely blank. The Force was only a pinprick, but it was all Chirrut had. He vaguely recognized walking through the market. He knew the cantina on his right, and the brothel above it where he had once paid to be bent over and taken by a man twice his weight and hated it so much he never went back. He remembered this ally, next to a mec-shop, where Korbun had found him, passed out from six days with no food and only sewer water to drink.

He was coming up on the docks, several large open hangered landing pads, with various ships and crafts moving in and out. It was there, in front of the screeching of the metal and the beeping of the loading droids, that he sat down on top of an abandoned pod racing engine, sand and grime caked into the rusting metal till it crumbled to the touch.

Chirrut’s senses were back to their usual heightened state, so every shriek of a drill made him wince, and the overwhelming amount of oil had him scrunching his nose in distaste every few minutes.

But there was something here that would change everything. Chirrut knew it.

“May the Force be with you,” He said to a random passerby with a smile. He had no idea why he was here, but he needed to trust in this right now.

He wanted to be angry again, but he was tired from the lack of sleep and he had five innocent children depending on him. Maybe there was a ship that could take the kids away from this place, at least for a little while? Not many captains would take on random children just out of the kindness of their hearts. It was not like Korbun and Ali-Menath could pay them in anything except watery soup and prayer. Still, Chirrut needed this.

He was there for hours.

Ships came and went, and yet nothing. Just as he was beginning to fade in and out of a light doze, his back beginning to ache and his fingers cold, he noticed the Force racing forward. A great gush of energized wind. Chirrut immediately jerked fully awake, awareness slamming into him all at once.

He breathed slowly, steady, and he focused.

After several moments of carefully picking through the cacophony around him, what sounded like a heated debate over fuel and ship repairs was what caught his attention. The two speakers were locked in a staunch battle of wills, which led to one of them stomping away, growling and complaining loudly.

Chirrut spoke up, “He is an Aqualish. They only trust those they can look in the eye.”

There was a long pause. This happened sometimes, when people did not realize that Chirrut was talking to them. They looked around like Gungans, swiveling their heads from side to side as if he were talking to someone standing beside them.

The one blanketed by the Force in front of him did not do this. They stood perfectly still. Silent.

“No living being can see my face.” A heavily modulated voice spoke back.

“Well, fortunately for you, I cannot see.”

“That’s… not the point.”

Chirrut laughed.

“The point, Mandalorian, is that I do not need eyes to know you. I see more than most ever could.” The guardian’s lips curled into a smile. “Especially more than one who wears such a ridiculous helmet.”

~*~


	2. The Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments. I appreciate it immensely.

The Mandalorian did not have a sense of humor, Chirrut found. The guardian’s jibe about the helmet went completely ignored and Chirrut could hear, just barely, the shift of armored boots as he turned to leave.

“The Force led you here,” Chirrut called after him. The boots stopped. “It has sent me as well.”

“What do you know of the Force?” The mechanical voice still somehow sounded accusing, suspicious, yet curious. The man obviously wanted to know about the Force for a specific reason, but Chirrut was too busy wondering what that deep timbre sounded like on its own. Would it make the hairs on the back of his neck raise even more with no vocoder garbling the tone till it barely sounded human?

“I know a place we can go to talk.” He answered finally.

The Mandalorian paused. “Is this a job offer?”

Chirrut carefully stood, his back thankful for the change in position. The Force was a steady swirl, churning around the Mandalorian in an ever morphing cloud, like a slow tornado. It took Chirrut’s breath away. He had never seen such raw power in a single person before. Could this man be a Jedi?

Reading the fluid dynamic forming between them, Chirrut decided to walk forward, haltingly, as if he really had no idea where he was or where he should step. People were somehow both instantly disarmed and made deeply uneasy around those with obvious disability. Chirrut normally paid it no mind, using humor and his easy-going nature to soothe the tension out of others’ shoulders. 

“This is a chance to discuss-” Chirrut’s words and forward movement came to an abrupt halt. He had to stifle the small gasp, barely more than a sharp intake of air. It was not often something genuinely surprised him, or caught him off guard, but he was definitely rendered speechless now. The Force was not surrounding the Mandalorian, it was surrounding… “-the little one in your carrier pouch.”

He could feel the Mandalorian tense, his aura darkening, accompanied by the swish of his cloak as he reached down to lay his hand firmly on the blaster at his hip. Chirrut could tell that if he did not diffuse the situation quickly, the Mandalorian would be a much better shot, a much more capable opponent, than any of the stormtroopers currently burning through the city.

The guardian slowly went down on one knee, bringing himself face to face with the powerful being tucked safely within the Mandalorian’s care.

“May the Force be with you,” He said quietly, reaching one hand forward, palm upward. His hope was that the armored warrior would not get fidgety about Chirrut expressing interest in his things. The way the Mandalorian’s gloved hand, the one currently not wrapped around a blaster stock, was clutching tightly at the bag, protectively surrounding the being within it, gave Chirrut hope he wouldn’t be shot dead instantly. Such a vigilant, possessiveness was not characteristic of an owner, master, or superior. It was like… a _parent_.

As interesting as the warrior was, Chirrut was rapidly becoming more and more fascinated by the small being chirping and purring at him happily. The faintest, gentlest touch of tiny, clawed fingers ghosted along Chirrut’s fingertips. A warm rush of the Force flooded Chirrut’s system, making him sigh. It reminded him of being a teenager, invincible and young, and of being wrapped securely in Baze’s arms as they ate supper with their Guardian brothers and sisters.

Chirrut found himself chuckle happily through a wide smile.

The being was young, a child. Yet, its deep attachment with the Force made it worldly and wise in a way Chirrut understood perfectly.

“We are one with the Force and the Force is with us.”

The words slipped out on their own. Chirrut had not said the prayer out loud since he had heard the holo-reader mechanically announce, ‘ _Baze Malbus – deceased. Battle of Scarrif._ ’

“Who are you?” Another static voice asked.

Chirrut was brought back to the damp Navarro humidity around him. The whirling of engines and sticky chemical smell of grease. One of the main reasons that Chirrut hated getting lost in the past so much was that he found it harder, almost impossible, to focus on anything in the present. Resolutely, he stood back up and proffered up one hand in greeting.

“Chirrut Imwe.”

A few moments pause.

“Some call me Mando.” A large, firm hand wrapped in thick leather, worn with age and use, grasped onto Chirrut’s outstretched hand tightly. For all its prospective force, it’s ability for violence, Mando’s hand was warm and gentle. Unfortunately, he pulled away just as quickly as he had accepted Chirrut’s welcome.

An uneasy silence settled between the two men as they both attempted to figure the other out. Chirrut cocked his head to the side, listening, waiting. “Where to then?” the modulator crackled deeply, and Chirrut gave a small slap of his thigh in celebratory response.

Then, still carefully taking in the wide scope of stimulus around him, including the Mandalorian’s solid, unyielding aura, Chirrut hesitated for just the slightest of moments. He was able to masterfully read people most of the time, but this tall, beskar clad warrior was one hard jurri-nut to crack. On a whim, Chirrut stepped forward, leaning ever so slightly inward, and looped his arm around Mando’s forearm. A dangerous fancy indeed.

“I am afraid I left my walking stick behind.” Chirrut breezed nonchalantly as the wall of muscle and metal tensed next to him. Underneath all those layers, Mando’s heart pittered for just a second, his breath tight. Yet, the man did not jerk away or protest, nor did he reach for his blaster again. He immediately accepted Chirrut actions as honorable and his word as true.

For a warrior, interesting.

For a Mandalorian, rare.

For a bounty hunter, impossible.

This man was either very, very deadly, or a complete and total idiot. Maybe he was somehow both.

The two finally started forward, in step. The child in Mando’s pouch was gurgling away, content. It seemed to like the food stalls, its adorable noises growing louder with each vendor of fried meats and freshly cut fruits they passed. Every once in a while, Chirrut could feel the creature’s penetrating gaze on him, observant, yet completely innocent. He had never come across any other of this one’s particular species, and he had met many of the varying creatures that traversed the galaxy.

What exactly had the Force led him to? And why?

Right now, the Force was rather silent, having done its job apparently, which left Chirrut on his own to figure out the rest. Before Scariff, he had happily embraced these types of challenges, these puzzle boxes left by the universe itself. Now, he felt oddly like everyone else in that he just wished he knew what in kriff’s name it wanted from him, puzzles and games be damned.

The distant sound of marching boots broke Chirrut from his musing. His sharp hearing let him know that while not in visible sight, or even currently in close proximity, they were surely headed this way. Without so much as an indication something was wrong, Chirrut turned the two men walking arm in arm off the main road and through a courtyard that connected the two blocks. Just as they exited the courtyard’s far side, the various patrons on the street they had just been traversing began scuttling about with small warning shouts. The rattling and rumbling of the imperial tank finally became audible. The Mandalorian, having noticed the change, turned his head to cautiously glance at the growing pandemonium they were silently skirting around.

Thinking quickly to distract him, Chirrut aligned his arm completely parallel with the Mandalorian’s, the thin fabric of his sleeve flush against the smooth beskar vambrace. Deftly he wound his thumb and index finger around the other man’s wide wrist. And there he felt it. In between the metal and leather, under the thin basic garments, was the slender slip of smooth skin along Mando’s wrist.

The same tenseness from before crept into the taller man’s frame, his pulse underneath Chirrut’s thumb was definitely quicker than the steady, dependable drum he had heard before. Instinctually, Chirrut slid his thumb back and forth in a palliative motion. It did little to lessen Mando’s tension, his body almost a charged livewire ready to spark, evidenced by the way he turned in his helmet to glance back again and again. The street where they had just been was beginning to break out in full on yelling, accompanied by the sound of a glass window shattering.

Thankfully, it did not take long to navigate further away from the main commotion. As they finally neared the temple though, Chirrut had to wordlessly stop them in an alley, knowing that a stray pair of stormtroopers was patrolling the street ahead. The troopers passed the mouth of the ally, marching along briskly, before disappearing from a seeing person’s sightline once more. When Chirrut went to start forward again, so very close to their destination and refuge, he found that the Mandalorian stayed rooted stubbornly in place

Chirrut had been waiting to see how long this enigmatic warrior would let himself be led through busy streets by a blind man. Apparently, he was willing to until said man successfully avoided multiple contingents of Imperial forces utilizing a complicated web of improvised shortcuts.

“Are you a Jedi?” Mando’s blunt question had a certain finality to it, as if he dared Chirrut to play dumb or lie to him.

“No,” Chirrut answered simply. But then an echo of the past. “Only a dreamer and a fool.”

His voice was low and cracked sounding; Chirrut disliked it more than he cared to admit. He gave Mando’s arm a guiding pull, his thumb once again rubbing little circles into that soft, exposed wrist. Chirrut didn’t want to read too much into anything, but Mando’s heartbeat quickened again before evening back out. His heart rate had been steady as the troopers passed, but skin contact apparently made him incredibly nervous. How… _endearing_ ….

However, that meant the armored warrior was either not afraid of stormtroopers or he was Imperial himself. Chirrut was not afraid of stormtroopers and he hardly thought a Mandalorian could be, so that only left the latter option.

Chirrut’s stomach sank a little. He couldn’t help the unpleasant tightening of his face.

The temple was so close. As they left the mouth of the ally out onto the street, Chirrut wondered if he should just walk Mando right past his beloved sanctuary and go somewhere else. Somewhere he could hurt Chirrut less.

Trust. The Force whispered. Trust.

A somber sigh pushed itself past Chirrut’s pursed lips. Trust was not such an easy thing for him to do, but he led the Mandalorian right through the front gates into the temple’s outside courtyard. For all his attempts to pacify the other man, crossing into the haven of the temple allowed Chirrut to finally relax himself.

“Welcome.” He said.

“It’s a … temple...” Mando replied, this time his bluntness mixed with confusion.

“I know, not much to look at.” Chirrut joked.

Mando turned to look at him once again, silent. He stood there for a moment, patiently, and just moments before he was about to excuse him to leave, Chirrut could tell, three of the children came giggling down the hall. The Mandalorian and the children all froze once they caught sight of each other, but the kids were never still for long.

“Woooaah!” a young girl, Elm-kora, said brightly, rushing forward, her long tangled braid swishing behind her. She stopped short a few feet away, the tall Mandalorian an imposing figure for a child that barely reached Chirrut’s naval. The two boys, named Hayze and Mirikoni, were much more cautious.

“Is he real?” Hayze asked, taking a step backwards instead.

Chirrut reached over and rapped his knuckles once, twice, against Mando’s breast plate. “He’s real.” Chirrut teasingly ignored the way Mando was now staring at him, his annoyance radiating off him in waves. The warrior’s ire was greatly subverted by a sudden high pitched, happy gurgle coming from the folds of fabric at his side.

“What’s that!?” Hayze was always the one with a million questions. He was now pointing to the being in Mando’s pouch. The Mandalorian stepped away and gave an awkward cough.

“His child.” Chirrut explained matter-o-factly.

Hayze paused. “Can we … Can we play with him?”

There was a long silence, Chirrut not wanting to push the other man too hard, too fast. However, the Mandalorian sighed and finally, carefully, kneeled down to pull the Child from his side pouch and place him on the floor. The child was mobile, but adorably awkward, moving around while producing a steady babble of meaningless cooing.

“He’s so weird.” Mirikoni finally spoke up.

“That’s rude.” Elm-Kora sassed.

“Well you’re a brat.” Hayze snapped back, “Vicar Ali-Meneth says so.”

The three children bickered as they all sat down together around the significantly smaller newcomer. Once they were all settled, the Child settled in Elm-Korra’s lap, Chirrut moved once again to stand by Mando’s side. He wound his arm back around one long metal clad limb, and he noticed this time, Mando crooked his own arm slightly at the elbow, making is easier and less awkward for Chirrut to hold onto. A warrior and a gentleman.

Quite the contradiction.

That was just it. The Mandalorian was a giant contradiction. A seasoned killer _and_ a nervous, new parent? A capable bounty hunter who was willing to help and trust strangers?

Chirrut quickly found that tender patch of exposed skin, enjoying the hastened sound of Mando’s heart before it calmed back down.

“This way.” He said pulling gently, marveling at the way Mando gave way to his lead.

They found Korbun and Ali-Meneth seated in the rundown kitchen, carefully rationing out their remaining food supplies as a pot of stew bubbled on the energy converter coil. Korbun froze when Chirrut walked in, Mandalorian in tow, and Ali-Meneth straight up gasped out loud as he reeled backwards into the wall.

“I have found a ship.” Chirrut announced.

Mando turned his helmet to look at him, having heard this for the first time as well.

Ali-Meneth sputtered for a few seconds. “O-Out of the ques-question. A-a-absolutely not.”

Chirrut ignored him, choosing instead to finally explain himself to the warrior whose hand he was holding. “The children out there,” He said, turning to make sure Mando knew he was addressing him, “They are in danger of being taken by those roaming troops outside and made to serve the Empire as war machine fodder. The vicars here have connections off planet willing to take the children, if we can only find a reliable and discreet transport.”

Korbun had set his notepad down and slowly stood.

“Is this true,” He asked Mando, “Can you get the children to safety?”

“Look who you are talking to,” Ali Meneth shrieked. “He’s a bounty hunter. He’ll probably sell them to the highest bidder!”

The Mandalorian was still silent, and thankfully Korbun and Ali-Meneth fell quiet too, allowing the Mandalorian to speak for the first time.

“How many children?”

“Five.” Chirrut almost whispered. “Five children who are one fateful gust away from falling into the Stormtrooper program and a lifetime of misery.”

“What’s the pay?” Mando asked it casually, as if discussing the weather. To anyone else, it would seem ordinary. A bounty hunter wouldn’t take on a risky quest out of pure charity or compassion. Chirrut detected the strain though, that small waver in the mechanical voice of a man who would never turn his back on an innocent person suffering.

Korbun opened his mouth, probably willing to offer the temple’s small fund of donations and probably his own personal savings, or even possessions, as well. Chirrut was faster.

“Nothing.” The guardian replied, resolute. “We have nothing to offer except our thanks, and the knowledge that these children will have a choice. And a chance.”

The flow of the Force throughout the room shifted.

A change was happening, a course correction in the lives of five beings that would grow up differently than they probably would have otherwise. Fate and destiny were not always grand things, not always found in large battles, planet altering moments, or huge gestures of power and wealth. No, here and now, the tapestry was changing, weaving into something new. It had been a long time since Chirrut had noticed such a shift in the Force, not since Bohdi had resolutely proclaimed a ragtag group of nameless rebels aboard a stolen enemy ship on the far edges of space ‘ _Rogue One._ ”

“This is an awful idea.” Ali-Meneth was sagging into his chair, knowing he was beat. “How can we be sure the children will be safe. How can we be certain?”

Korbun was staring at Mando now, his eyes flicking over to Chirrut and then back again to the gleaming beskar and assorted weaponry. “We can be because Chirrut will go with them.” Korbun said finally.

Chirrut blinked, but then, with a small swallow, nodded his head.

Ali-Meneth shook his head. “You’re going to send children, _our children_ , through vast space with a Mandalorian and…. your stray _cat_?”

“Yes.” Korbun stepped forward, bearing down on Chirrut meaningfully. “If the Mandalorian and loth cat in question agree?”

Mando was still, but eventually his head nodded once. “Give me the destination and I’ll see what I can do.”

Chirrut gave a small hissed ‘yes’ in celebration. The hand he had wrapped around Mando’s wrist gave a tight, involuntary squeeze before Chirrut could stop it, so he gave the warrior’s pulse point beneath his thumb a gentle stroke in genuine apology.

“Chirrut?” Korbun questioned.

Chirrut gave a dismissive wave with his other hand. “What am I going to stay here for? The view?” He smirked at Mando, hoping he could get a laugh, or something, out of the man. Instead....

“My cargo hold doesn’t have any windows.” The Mandalorian said quietly. “Sorry.”

It took Chirrut a moment before he caught on. Korbun erupted into a sniggering fit, Ali-Meneth only sighed and buried his face into one hand.

Chirrut was wrong. The Mandalorian did indeed have a sense of humor.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment. Love hearing from you guys!


	3. The Faithful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this out earlier, but I vastly under estimated how lazy I would be this holiday. XD
> 
> I am in need of a Beta, please read my notes at the end if interested.

It took only five minutes to pack all of the Chirrut’s possessions. All he had was some clothes, a few credits, a pair of thick boots, and his staff anyways. After having his life ruthlessly stripped away from him, Chirrut found it hard to acquire any material goods not needed for basic sustenance. He had barely survived losing everything once, a second time would be the death of him.

The kids took longer to prepare, though they had similar or even less possessions of their own, but they asked a million questions and became uncontrollably excited at finding out they were leaving in a spacecraft with a Mandalorian in the pilot’s seat. The Mandalorian in question, however, needed fuel, supplies, and to replace his thermo-hydro regulator, which had apparently somehow led to both his auxiliary engine overheating and unpleasantly ice-cold sonic showers. Chirrut smiled at the way Mando tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, as if he should not be somehow upset his only way to remain hygienic was to douse himself in icy mist, let alone icy mist in space.

Surprisingly, it was Korbun who happily jumped up when he heard the problem.

“I can take care of that!” He said. “I know a gal.”

Turned out, one of Korbun’s followers and close friends was a black market peddler of fuel, mech parts, and a few other things Korbun wouldn’t speak of out loud in his temple. Ali-Meneth scoffed and asked just how Korbun had managed to associate himself with such company. Korbun only laughed merrily.

“Criminals can’t be devout?” He asked, slapping the other man on the shoulder as he shuffled away to reach out to the woman in question to see if she would help them, and help them quickly. It had been agreed that they would have to leave that very night at the latest. Ali-Meneth had wrung his hands at waiting even that long, asking if the replacement part was necessary and if Mando could depart immediately.

Mando had fallen quietly observant, only nodding his head at Korbun’s proposal for getting them off planet by using less than reputable means.

“So, are you regretting letting me take your arm yet, Mandalorian?” Chirrut asked after the matter was settled, listening carefully for Mando’s reaction. Not to what he said, instead picking out the small telltale ticks of his body, the ones that most people never thought about or could not wholly control. Most would have missed the small shift from one foot to the other, a clearing of the throat just barely too quiet for even the helmet to pick up and project out its mic. There was an almost shyness to the man that Chirrut had not expected, as if the armor he wore was not all beskar, or even physical.

“Not yet.” Mando snarked, but his heart rate remained steady. The truth. Interesting.

“Can the priest really get me what I need for my ship?” He sounded doubtful.

“Just so long as you don’t ask where it came from.” Chirrut smiled. “The vicar is anything but orthodox. Intriguing to find in a person of faith.”

Mando looked at him, his aura pensive. “Are you a person of faith?”

 _‘Are you really not a Jedi?’_ was what Mando wanted to ask. Chirrut had felt the other man watching him carefully at every turn, observing how Chirrut easily navigated the world around him, such as how he deftly kept his footing as several children ran hyper through the halls, Mando’s own child was babbling happily from atop Elm-Kora’s shoulders. When he told Ali-Meneth that the Child was hungry and would eat anything handed to him, the Mandalorian sputtered for a second underneath his helmet, almost too quiet for its vocoder to even pick up, so Chirrut told him to stop gaping at him like a fish. The guardian did not feel like explaining that half his environmental awareness came from highly sensitive hearing, half came from simple observation and calculation that most people never bothered with but Chirrut depended on to fill in what his eyes could not, and the rest came from the fibers of the universe whispering quietly to him over one shoulder. It was a lot for people to grasp, especially those Chirrut had just met.

Chirrut brushed him away easily, “I prefer to believe in people these days. Just people. But I sense that you are a man of great belief.”

“I am a Mandalorian. My creed is my religion.”

Without missing a beat, “Are you Imperial?” Chirrut had never had to ask before, his perception and ability with the Force normally filling in the blanks, but he needed to know now, needed to have it stated out loud. He wanted absolute confirmation that he wasn’t dooming this entire mission before it had even started, despite the Force incessantly pushing him ever onward. To his credit, the Mandalorian barely hesitated.

“I’ve worked with remnants from time to time, but not since they tried to take-“ the _Child._ Chirrut knew without Mando saying it.

He now understood why the other man was quickly recruited to their cause. Neither of them needed to say anything else to understand.

“You have nothing to fear from me.” Mando said after a contemplative pause, mistaking Chirrut’s silence as doubt. When Chirrut continued to give no reaction or indication of his thoughts, the armored man continued, as if to explain. “Your tattoo…”

Chirrut nodded his head in comprehension. With the Mandalorian watching him so closely, he should have known he would see the brand. Tucked slightly behind his left ear, on the junction where his jawline, neck and earlobe all met, was the mark of Imperial political prisoners. Clearly visible to others, the brand had been burned into his neck with a very specific alloy so that the scar left behind turned a deep blueish green, or so Chirrut had been told, upon his arrival and inproccessing when he had been to weak to do anything to stop them. It was both an instant announcement to the world that Chirrut had actively fought alongside the Alliance as well as a gruesome reminder of his years of confinement.

“The Force brought you to us,” Chirrut said. “I trust the Force and I trust you.”

That, was also the truth.

The realization should have comforted or calmed Chirrut, but instead it only made him more unsure. Years had passed since he had last felt such steadfast conviction in the Force, that everything would actually turn out for the better. He had relied solely on its comfort during imprisonment, the Force whispering that he could survive his only lifeline in the solitude, but not since then. Not since it kept from him that Baze had passed away, along with every other person who had landed on that cursed beach all those years ago. Without the Force, Chirrut had been like a ship unmoored, drifting through the unknown, but it had still been better than making peace with the thing he had felt betrayed him.

Now, finally willing to reach out in truce, he somehow felt more confused than ever.

Korbun came back a while later, just as the sun was beginning to fade, and his aura radiated with smug pleasure. His contact had not only agreed to help, but would be able to get them off the ground within a matter of hours, under the cover of darkness.

Chirrut took that time to feed the kids one last hot meal, knowing they would have few options beyond ration bars while on board the ship. The Mandalorian remained close to his kid, standing guard to make sure he ate the steaming watery mush and was safe with the other children as they played.

“Do you know of any others like me?” Mando had asked Chirrut as the children scampered around, jostling for a seat at the small table.

“Mandalorian?” Chirrut asked, a bowl in each hand as he walked from the stove to the table. He was just about to set the last bowl down in the spot next to Mando’s child when the oldest of the temple’s orphans, a boy named Parma, raced underneath him to sit down. Chirrut stepped back, raising the bowl so the kid wouldn’t bump it with his oblivious little head and be doused in scalding soup.

So intent on not burning the child, Chirrut misjudged where exactly the Mandalorian was standing. The man was so quiet, so still, that normally it was only his heartbeat, maybe a sigh or a shift in his armor, that gave him away. As Chirrut stepped back, he bumped straight into Mando’s broad front. One of the guardian’s feet came down on Mando’s boot, so he had to quickly restep, sliding his foot inward and leaning back onto the only stable thing he could, which happened to be Mando, to catch his balance. The metal the chestplate was a cold and unyielding blanket pressed across his entire back, Mando’s left leg bracer digging into the meat of Chirrut’s thigh.

The two men froze for one awkward second, slotted against each other, one of Chirrut’s feet planted between Mando’s own and neither one quite sure what to do, before Chirrut calmly stepped away. He hadn’t realized how much taller and broader the Mandalorian was compared to his own slim frame. With out all that beskar it might have been extremely pleasant to fall into those strong arms.

“I’m sorry.” Chirrut replied lightly. “I’m afraid it’s been several years since I came across any of your kind.”

The subject was promptly dropped and encounter conveniently went unmentioned.

Those last couple of hours raced by, a steady stream of waiting and hurrying that wrapped the temple in a barely contained bubble of anticipation. Mando left to oversee the work being done to his ship and to double check that everything was ready to their nighttime flight to freedom. It did not go unnoticed that the stoic warrior allowed his child to stay at the temple while he traversed the city night, quietly showing his belief that the little one would be well looked after. Chirrut was welcome for the space from the other man. The growing magnetism between them felt so easy and natural, yet absolutely nerve-wracking at the same time. How was he going to fly with this man, cooped up in his small ship with no where to go? Chirrut found himself praying silently in the temple chamber, the quietness and holy solitude of the great hall welcome.

Chirrut sighed. He would have to bear it.

A part of him, hungrily churning deep down, was begging to take on the challenge.

Over the years since Baze, Chirrut had found himself drawn to others, but he had always just let the feelings remain buried, knowing it would fade once either he or the object of his attention had moved on. And they always moved on, eventually. When this mission was finished, he could just part ways with the Mandalorian, like he had done multiple times before. Easy, simple, safe. 

But you don’t have to. The Force whispered.

“Be quiet.” Chirrut hissed out loud, before realizing he was talking to no one. Always so alone.

 _What is wrong with me?_ He asked himself. The ball in his stomach twisted, moving up into his chest, painful to breath around. 

It was then that he felt another presence waddling into the room. Instantly recognizable, Chirrut forced a small smile. The Child walked straight towards Chirrut as if he were a being on a mission of his own, as focused and resilient as his armored father. As the little being neared him, Chirrut pushed off the bench and lowered himself onto the floor to sit with his legs crossed in front of him.

“Hello.”

To his shock, he received a Force pushed hello in greeting. 

One clawed little hand came to rest against the skin of Chirrut’s arm. A wave of gentle worry, accompanied by the desire to comfort, washed over the guardian’s body. The perceptive creature must have sensed Chirrut’s tailspin into melancholy through the Force. He was going to have to be more careful to contain himself around Mando’s child. The kid could read him like a book, the same way Chirrut so easily read others.

“I’m ok.” He tried to blanket his grief, bury it deep.

A sting of doubt from the Child.

“I promise, little one.”

A question. Inquisitive, but not prying.

“I’m afraid it’s quite the complicated tale.” Instead of pulling away, Chirrut pushed forward his own flood of emotions, his loss, a storm of barely contained chaos.

Patience. Kindness. Compassion. That was the Child’s answer. Taught to him by the most patient and kind of parents. He climbed into Chirrut’s lap with a huff, snuggling into the warmth of Chirrut’s stomach. Through the Force the Child revealed his own buried feelings of despair, of when he had been lost and alone, before the Mandalorian had rescued him and shown him affection for the first time in many, many years.

Love.

He wanted the same thing for Chirrut.

The guardian was rapidly becoming overwhelmed.

“Don’t worry about me.” He whispered.

An annoyed mental smack, as if frustrated with Chirrut’s stubbornness.

Chirrut’s laughed out loud; he couldn’t help it. He might have been avoiding the bigger issues at hand, but everything felt easier, lighter, with Mando’s child nestled in his lap.

They stayed that way, just a comforting flow of the Force from one to the other, undisturbed and impenetrable. Both sensed the Mandalorian returning several minutes before the armored man actually landed in the courtyard, his jet pack a fiery scream assaulting Chirrut’s sensitive ear drums.

Chirrut stood, not wanting Mando to see him so emotionally compromised, but the Child clutched to his shirt.

A demand to be held.

Chirrut relented, raw nerves unable to part just yet with the budding connection that had formed between them. Several grounding breathes later, a recalibration tuning into the natural current surrounding them, and Chirrut was ready to face the Mandalorian as he strolled into the temple chamber.

Chirrut could tell the moment Mando saw them, the tension in those armored shoulders lessening as soon as he saw his child safely wrapped in the guardian’s arms. That helmet cocked to one side, Chirrut heard the shift, sensed the growing question in Mando’s aura, as his attention moved from his child to the man holding said child. Chirrut had always had a knack for sensing when people were looking at him, the hair on his forearms or the back of his neck tingling like a physical warning he was being watched.

“The Razor Crest is ready,” Mando said, straight to the point. “We need to leave. Now.”

Chirrut nodded, stepping forward and handing the Child back over to his adoptive parent. He pointedly ignored the feeling of leather-clad fingers gently touching his own during the exchange.

Finally ready to depart, a frenzied, silent rush took over. Everyone whispered and tiptoed as they urgently rounded up the children and prepared to leave the temple confines, as if they were being watched already. Mando wrapped the Child up tightly and placed him back into the safety of the canvas pouch slung over his shoulder. Korbun openly cried while Ali-Meneth drabbed at the corner of one eye, both vicars hugging each child and placing a small blessing on every head. When it came to Chirrut, Korbun grabbed the guardian into a squeezing hug. Ali-Meneth only gave him a barely perceptible nod of his head before turning to shake the Mandalorian’s hand in gratitude and farewell.

It was then time to exit the outer gate, Mando pausing before turning towards Chirrut.

“You lead.” He said.

Chirrut nodded, staff in one hand and Elm-Kora’s tiny hand clasped in the other. Parma grasped a loose fold in his shirt, Mirikuni holding Parma’s free hand, and Hayze had latched onto the Mandalorian, no longer afraid of the man. The youngest and last of the temple orphans, a toddler without a name that Korbun called Darling, was set on Mando’s hip, opposite the pouch and its inhabitant.

They set out into the cold night, the shuffle of feet the only sign of their escape.

The small, ragtag group managed to easily navigate the city undetected with Chirrut at the helm. Thankfully, the stillness of the night allowed him to pick up on anyone roaming about, most of which would be pairs of stormtroopers out on patrol. The air carried an acrid scent of smoke and the feeling of something close to detonation, like the city itself was a bomb or a volcano on the precipice of eruption. Chirrut thought back to Korbun and Ali-Meneth, alone in their temple.

No, they were not alone, they had their followers. Their worries were eased with the promise of the children fleeing to somewhere safe. Chirrut just had to get them there.

Every second out of the temple, Chirrut’s anxiety grew, but he remained collected, breath even. Mando was calm as well, the Force around him as steady and solid as he was. The journey was already approaching halfway finished. Chirrut lead the group to cross a small footbridge, where he paused along its base, tucked behind an empty vending stall. A nest of Imperials had taken over a tavern not a block away and Chirrut knew it overlooked the small irrigation ravine, bridge crossers clearly visible.

“Problem?”

“There are several Imperials.” He pointed towards the tavern, music and laughter punctuating the still night. “I can’t tell how many are awake. Or how many may be watching the bridge.”

“Is there a way around?”

“There is, but it is significantly longer, and even more heavily guarded.”

Chirrut took a moment, mulling over the options, sensing the Mandalorian doing the same.

“We cross here.” Mando stated.

Chirrut hummed in agreement. “Go when I say.”

Mando only nodded.

Chirrut waited, letting his instinct guide him.

“Now.”

Mando did not even hesitate, immediately springing into action, dragging kids with him as he made his way over the bridge. Hayze had his face buried in Mando’s side. Chirrut couldn’t breathe, air caught in his throat as they crossed. He listened to their footsteps as they walked further and further away. After a few seconds that seemed to stretch on forever, Mando and the kids stepped off the bridge and tucked themselves into the a hidden alcove, no longer out in the open.

Chirrut sighed heavily through his nose, composing himself so that he could repeat the lucky crossing. As he listened though, he felt the vibration of more footsteps. Footsteps coming from behind them.

Another patrol and rotten luck.

Chirrut was caught between staying still where the unsuspecting duo of stormtroopers coming up to the bridge might stumble upon them, or being seen crossing the shallow drainage ditch, either by the armored patrol or the nest of Imperials in the tavern. It was the proverbial rock and a hard place. Gritting his teeth, Chirrut made a split second decision.

“Now, come with me.” He hissed quietly. Hunched over and clutching Elm-Kora’s hand, he sprinted forward to cross the footbridge. The children were able to keep up, but just barely, Parma almost tripping over some debris.

“Hey, you there!” A voice yelled behind them. “Stop!”

Chirrut ignored it, mind clicking over into fight mode, all ruthless focus and instinctive action. He quickly found Mando, who had already turned to press forward, poised to run for it. With the kids he’d never make it though. One short bridge was not the half a mile back to the hangar bay were the Mandalorian’s ship sat waiting for them.

“Here!” Chirrut called, pressing Elm-Kora’s hand into Mando’s glove. He gripped Parma and Mirikuni’s shoulders to get their attention. “Go with the Mandalorian.”

“Come back here!” The stormtroopers had made it to the other side of the bridge and were about to cross. Their calls had alerted the Imperials nearby, who were rousing to the sound of the commotion and arming themselves.

“Run!” Chirrut hissed at Mando. “Now!”

They both understood what he meant without having to say anything.

“It’s ok, I’ve been at their mercy before.” Chirrut said. “Go.”

Then the Mandalorian was gone with a soft whip of his tattered cape, the children with him. Chirrut turned back towards the bridge, intent on giving them as much time as he could. That anger was bubbling up in him, a rage that simmered beneath his skin every time he heard whisper of the Empire.

He dodged their blaster bolts easily. How trained stormtroopers always failed to hit absolutely anything was always a favorite joke between he and Baze. Now, he almost wished for the hot sear of it eating his skin. He and the troopers met in the middle of the bridge, one of them swinging the butt of his weapon wildly at Chirrut’s head. The fight was over just as quickly as it began, one trooper knocked unconscious by Chirrut’s staff, the other flung whole body over the side with a scream, landing with a crunch in the ditch below. Close to a dozen Imperials were running towards the bridge now, cutting him off from following Mando to his ship.

Chirrut had suspected there would be several obstacles to overcome with this delicate mission, but he hadn’t expected his trip with the children to be cut so short. It was a little disappointing.

Apparently, the guardian was a far cry from what he used to be.

The dam of anguish inside him broke. If it he was going back, or finally meeting his end, here and now, he would make sure to take down as many of them as he could. Chirrut felt like another being was taking over his body, even as he directed his energy and harmonized his mind with the dark swirling Force around him. Every second was muscle memory mixed with intuition.

It was like nothing could touch him. His staff crunched in the armor of one stormtrooper after another, he dodged one blaster bolt and then a dozen more, his movements a steady wave of attack. Catching one stormtrooper around the neck, Chirrut used the momentum of the charging adversary to propel himself into two more, kicking them over the side of the bridge. He then flipped the one in his grasp flat onto his back, breaking his neck in the process. He knew the hot liquid that splashed across one of his arms and the side of his neck was blood.

He was no longer afraid. No more hiding.

Run! The Force ordered him suddenly. Chirrut turned, heading the way he had come from, and sprinted. He managed to get off the bridge, temple side, right before a charge-grenade hit, disintegrating the bridge into splinters as it rocked the city with shock waves from the loud explosion.

So much for discreet.

He had hoped that the Imperials would think he had been taken down by the grenade and not chase him down, but another patrol made sure that did not happen, shouting loudly for him to surrender. Instead, Chirrut made quick work of disabling them, but for every one he managed to fight his way past, five more appeared. It was as if all fifty or more members of the fallen Empire remnant were all converging on his position at once.

 _Well, this is quite a farewell._ Chirrut told himself morbidly as he was cornered by four stormtroopers and two officers, one carrying a high powered cycler rifle.

The stormtroopers charged first, but Chirrut cracked the closet one in the front of his exposed throat. As he gurgled, suffocating due to a collapsed trachea, Chirrut shoved him into two more stormtroopers who hastily brought up their weapons to shoot at him. Planting his staff and vaulting over them as they fell, he then twirled the strong ueneti wood to smack brutally against an officer’s knee. The knee broke sideways with a sickening snap. That left the stormtrooper and final officer, who were both aiming at him, near point blank. Chirrut turned, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to whip around fast enough, not to stop both of them. It would be impossible to slide to one side before-

Three shots from a pistol blaster rained from the sky.

Chirrut gasped when he recognized the high pitched drone of Mando’s jetpack.

“Mando!” He called, giving a laugh as the man landed several feet away, stormtrooper and officer falling over from Mando’s deadly aim.

“You came back.” Chirrut gasped out, knowing he was quite a sight, chest heaving and covered in dirt and blood. The Imperial officer was shrieking in pain as he held his leg where it bent unnaturally.

Mando had no time to answer before he was shot in the back by another blaster, two stormtroopers sprinting towards them. Luckily, the Mandalorian beskar reflected the blaster shot off into the side of a building, leaving the man within unharmed.

Chirrut froze, reaching out with the Force as well as listening closely to everything that moved around him. The ground shook with all the movement, the air was alive with a staggering amount of violent energy. Indeed, over two dozen Imperial forces were on the move in their immediate vicinity.

They needed to leave, and they needed to leave now.

Chirrut, continuing to act on instinct rather than logic, ran full speed towards Mando. Once he was within reach, Chirrut wrapped his arms around Mando’s neck. Not even caring what Mando thought or how he would react, he then hiked one leg up, which Mando caught reflexively by the knee.

“Fly!” Chirrut ordered, closing the gap between their bodies completely.

Mando never even hesitated.

Before Chirrut could reconsider, they were soaring through the night sky, air ice cold as it whipped at his cheeks and clothes. Up here, the stimulus was so limited, especially over the whine of the jetpack. All Chirrut had was the harsh metal, interspersed with canvas outerwear, leather straps, and the occasional linen flight suit. Mando’s hand was tight on the back of his knee, his gun arm still holding his pistol and ready to fire, Chirrut could feel it occasionally bump into his back due to the wind pressure. Not liking the frozen stabs of wind or the scream of the machinery that was currently saving his life, Chirrut buried his face into the crook of Mando’s neck, nose tucked right under his chin. He focused on the warm rolls of the cowl around Mando’s throat, the very human smell of him.

There, hidden under Mando’s jaw, was yet another small exposed slip of warm skin.

Chirrut fixated on it to keep himself sane, needing to be balanced as they flew. It wasn’t often he was this thrown off course.

But in the terror, the loss of grounding, Chirrut found himself laughing uncontrollably. The rush of adrenaline and endorphins was making him just a little bit loopy. Coupled with the thrill of flying, Chirrut’s happiness erupted from his mouth in a small whoop of victory. His excitement was only slightly surpassed by the sudden realization that he would be leaving this whole debacle in one piece after all. He was going to live, and not only that, but he would still get to accompany the kids on their trip to a new life. 

Apparently, his mission was not finished just yet.

Mando landed near the open cargo hatch of his ship, quickly letting go of Chirrut’s knee. Chirrut let go of the Mandalorian's front and stepped back, giving the other man space.

“Chirrut!” Elm-Kora’s voice rang out from inside the ship, followed by other recognizable child voices. They were all here, all six of the kids, five of Chirrut's, and one huge bundle of Force energy, carried in Elm-Kora’s arms. The guardian laughed quietly, happiness uncontainable, before making a shushing noise, trying to keep the children quiet. No need to come this far for the Imperials to figure out where they had escaped to. They had secrecy on their side once more, and since they would soon be the only ship sprinting towards the wide open cosmos, they needed to remain hidden as long as possible. The kids all tucked themselves back into the ship where Mando had safely stowed them, Chirrut making his way up the gangplank to join them. Mando was fiddling with the control panel of the hangar bay, trying to get the docking clamps to release.

“Chirrut!” Mando called. Chirrut blinked, realizing simultaneously that not only was Mando asking for him specifically, but that he had said Chirrut’s name for the first time.

“Yeah!” He replied.

“Hit the clamp lock!” He yelled back. “It’s a two way clamp, back panel near the cargo controls.”

Chirrut felt along the ship hull, cursing.

“Here!” Hayze yelled, running forward and leading him to it. Chirrut ran his hands over the controls. There had to be twenty different buttons, all the same raised little round of plastoid.

“Which one?”

“The one that’s blinking! It’s green.”

Well shit.

“Here.” Hayze repeated, gently. He reached over and hit one of the buttons. Chirrut heard the clamps release, the ships jerking slightly.

Ship now free to fly, Mando ran back over to the open hatch. Chirrut listened to him as he charged up the walkway and hit a different button on the panel, which closed the cargo hatch with a jerking, mechanical whine. The Mandalorian turned to leave, probably for the cockpit, but a thought seemed to come to him then because he stopped, looked at the panel and then Chirrut.

“Dank Farrik.” He muttered to himself before stalking away.

That would have to wait till later, Chirrut decided. The children were all huddled on the cargo floor, clutching to each other. Chirrut climbed down to join them, offering a calming word and a soothing hand to a shoulder or back as Mando fired up the ship’s thruster. The children all gave a gasp as the ship lifted into the air. Chirrut’s own stomach gave a small lurch, but it was because he hoped they hadn’t come so far only to be shot out of the sky.

It turned out, Mando was an efficient and capable flyer, whether with his jetpack or in the pilot seat of his ship.

The Imperials never even knew they were flying until it was too late and Mando was pushing the ship out of the atmosphere. Chirrut finally sank down, letting his body rest, six exhausted children curled around him.

A hazy state, the fallout of adrenaline and life threatening danger, took over the hull. The children all fell asleep quickly, their little bodies easily overwhelmed and falling into the safe, peacefull world of dreaming. Chirrut almost fell asleep himself, but he was uncomfortable, back hunched over and leg awkwardly jutting to one side.

He carefully pulled himself from the sleep pile, carefully checking in on all six tiny little heartbeats individually before stepping away.

Mando’s ship was narrow and, honestly, kind of a piece of bantha crap. It smelled musty, creaked and groaned at the strain as Mando went into hyperspace, and every surface was little grimy with age. Chirrut liked it more this way.

It was honest. Real.

As he made his way from the back of the ship towards the front, Chirrut carefully mapped out where everything was. A single, rickety ladder led up to the cockpit. Mando was still fiddling with the controls but Chirrut heard…. chewing. Careful, quiet, and methodical chewing. Mando, thinking that all the others were asleep, had decided to use the opportunity to eat a quick ration bar, intent on seeing them through to safety and needing nutrients and energy to get there.

Chirrut considered his options. He respectfully remained at the base of the ladder and cleared his throat loudly. “Kids are all asleep.”

Mando gave the slightest jerk, his heart jumping. Chirrut heard him shuffling around, probably reaching for his helmet. “You’re quiet.” That’s all he heard before Mando slipped the beskar back over his head, hiding his voice behind the vocoder.

His voice was so smooth, low and sweet, a light accent Chirrut could not quite place.

“Thank you for coming back for me.” Chirrut pressed forward, not wanting to fixate too much on Mando’s beautiful voice. Instead he wondered whether or not Mando had seen any of his dueling with the legion of stormtroopers back planetside.

“Didn’t look like you needed my help, but you’re welcome.” The garbled tone of the helmet mic was back. Chirrut swiftly decided he hated it.

So Mando _had_ seen him fight. Wait, no. Focus, Chirrut. Focus!

“I did.” He replied. “I did need your help.”

A notion of question, bordering on doubt was Chirrut’s only feedback, supplied by the Force since he could barely pick up on much else.

“I am blind. And I’m not a Jedi.” Chirrut reiterated, knowing that it was hard to believe.

“I believe you.” The reply was so simple, but it said a million different things, each more important than the last. An unspoken surge of camaraderie was forming, a bond that Chirrut knew was as fragile as it was powerful. The Force sure had done a number on Chirrut, bringing the two of them together. 

“Many don’t, especially after they see me fight.” Chirrut allowed the annoyed exhaustion taint his tone. “They think I’m faking being blind and they’ll be the ones to catch me in a lie.”

“You are rather remarkable.” Mando gave a stiff cough, embarrassed. “In a fight, I mean.”

“Others are convinced I’m a Jedi. Just because I am one with the Force does not mean I follow one path. Why must I be one thing or the other? Why can’t I just be a simple nobody?” Chirrut grinned. “A simple nobody who can defeat a dozen stormtroopers, but still a nobody.”

Mando chuckled shyly. The peaceful understanding between them was spreading, not retreating. Curiously, it was Mando who broke the silence.

“Sometimes, people don’t see me as human, treat me similar to a droid. They’ll dismiss me, acting like if I don’t have a face, then I’m not real.” He seemed just tired as Chirrut. “Or they become obsessed with the person underneath the armor, take my Creed as a challenge. They’ll try to convince me to take off my helmet, tell me I’ll be happier without it on. Some have even tried to trick me or take it off by force.”

Chirrut leaned heavily against the ladder, letting his head rest on the worn metal rung. “People are cruel to that which they cannot control, and destructive to that which they do not understand.”

A long silence. “You’re not going to ask me if I’ll remove it?”

Chirrut frowned, but kept his tone light. “Why would I do that? Are you cute?”

“You did call my helmet ridiculous.” Most would have only caught the bored aloofness, aided by the helmet modulation. Chirrut, however, caught the undercurrent of pride, the self-respecting honor Mando associated with his helmet, and the hurt at it being, in his eyes, insulted. Chirrut was about to tell him he had meant no harm, but there was no defense.

“I apologize.” After Mando’s steadfast proclamation in believing him, it was the absolute least Chirrut could do, and maybe even his vocal reparation was not enough.

Mando seemed genuinely confused, with a small undercurrent of hopeful. “You really were just… teasing.”

Chirrut huffed. “I might have been.”

Mando, once again, accepted Chirrut unconditionally. Chirrut heard the click of the helmet, the shuffle of it being removed. The sound was followed by the quick nibble of Mando continuing to eat his ration bar. Poor guy was probably famished. “I’m sorry…” Mando said finally, no helmet. Chirrut smiled privately, relishing the sound “I wasn’t thinking….with the door panel, and….”

“Seems like we need to start over.” Chirrut offered. It was a blanket forgiveness, a clean slate, so they could build the relationship over, now with understanding instead of forced distance and suspicion.

“I think maybe we do.” Mando mumbled around a mouth full of dry, cardboard nutrients before he could think better of it. He grumbled to himself, as if cursing his own inelegance.

“If you haven’t seen one face, you haven’t seen them all. I’m more a voice person.” Chirrut purred, letting himself genuinely flirt with the other man, not just tease, “And I like yours.”

Mando sucked in a large breath, causing himself to cough on a piece of ration bar. Chirrut was already walking away, shoulder’s exhausted and knees quickly giving out. The energy burst from the fight earlier had completely deserted him, leaving him with the exhaustive fallout. However, he was smiling, his ears warm, and his heart a fluttering mess in his chest.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please comment and let me know what you think. I love reading what you all have to say. 
> 
> So I really need a beta, I know this chapter is not the best, which is another reason it took so long and I hesitated to post it. If at all interested in beta-ing this or any of my other Mandalorian works, please contact me through Tumblr. My Tumblr is completely empty, I only use it to creep, but I'm there and willing to chat, just message me. 
> 
> Tumblr - [Avathys](https://avathys.tumblr.com/)
> 
> My other works I'm looking for a beta for. Check them out and comment if you like them too! :)  
> [Negotiating Space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263474) \- Boba/Din oneshot. Pure porn with a little plot and feeling thrown at it.  
> [Catch Fire With Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180107/chapters/69052335) \- Migs/Din ABO short story smutfest. Alpha/Alpha pairing. Will be updated sometime in the next few days (I hope).
> 
> Till next time!


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